


Coming For Your Love

by InMediasRes



Series: String of Fate [13]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Background Margo Hanson/Julia Wicker, Dorks in Love, Everybody Lives, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Music, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Romantic Fluff, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29525277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InMediasRes/pseuds/InMediasRes
Summary: But he was here, and all the people he loved were also here, and he had his dream job – he had shown the people who didn’t believe in him that he could do it. He had proven every single goddamn one of them wrong. And what was even better was that he was sharing his success with the three people most important to him.or;Six years later, and Eliot and Quentin hit another milestone in their relationship.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: String of Fate [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076294
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Coming For Your Love

**Author's Note:**

> So we're in the last stages of this series now. There's just one more major work in this, and then an epilogue :')
> 
> Title taken from Take on Me by a-ha.

* * *

The last six years had been an absolute dream.

Eliot had gotten an offer from the New York City Ballet almost straight out of graduation which, at the time, Eliot thought was the most amazing thing to happen to him (outside of meeting Quentin & Margo, of course). Margo had also chosen to stay in New York, creating a name for herself straight off the bat–there was nothing she couldn’t do. She was taking the theatre world by storm, and Eliot liked to tease her that it wouldn’t be long before she was on Broadway instead. But she insisted she liked her little theatre company (they were pretty small currently, but a lot of their contemporary pieces dealt with modern topics of world issues and politics, which was right up her alley). And they shared an apartment, which they eventually moved from to a bigger one when Quentin and Julia had also graduated and moved in.

Meanwhile, Eliot had slowly but surely been working his way up the City Ballet. He was not a principal dancer yet, but he reckons he might be one in a few years; he has already performed in a few, full-scale ballets; his proudest moment being in Swan Lake–it’s his favourite ballet so naturally that’s his proudest performance, and of course the irony of pretty much being a real-life Billy Elliot was not lost on him (sometimes he still thinks back on that performance and he has to smile in the darkness of his room). Sometimes, he can’t quite believe he is here, still living his dream in New York–fourteen year old Eliot would never have believed it. Hell, even twenty year old Eliot would never have believed it.

But he was here, and all the people he loved were also here, and he had his dream job–he had shown the people who didn’t believe in him that he could do it. He had proven every single goddamn one of them wrong. And what was even better was that he was sharing his success with the three people most important to him.

(Even if they did sometimes have their ups and downs–most notably the time when Quentin had been photographed taking his meds, and the press had thought he was doing the _bad kind_ of drugs.)

Eliot looked back at himself in the mirror, smiling. He was wearing one of his favourite dress shirts (a light purple colour) with a matching tie, though it was done loosely. He _was_ going to a concert after all, and though he usually dressed even more casually for those–you can’t dance and sing your heart out in a dress shirt at a sweaty concert–tonight was special.

Tonight was Quentin’s last night on tour.

He wasn’t a big name or anything exactly, but Quentin had also been carving a name for himself in the music industry. New York and the other states in the vicinity of the city adored him. The youngsters adored him. The adults adored him. He’d even garnered some favour with bigger artists, with a notable number of followers on Twitter (not that he used it much–usually it was Eliot, or Margo, or Julia, who would tweet something funny on his account). And the group was going to go out to celebrate after his concert was done; Quentin was going to be _home_ again, possibly for at least a couple of years, while he worked on his second album.

Eliot couldn’t be prouder.

After the fiasco with the press about his ‘drug taking’, Quentin had decided to come clean, for lack of a better phrase. He hadn’t wanted to start his career with lies, or hiding who he really was, so he’d done an exclusive interview in which Eliot had been invited to, and they’d introduced themselves as a couple; Quentin had talked about his past with depression and suicide, and Eliot had talked about homophobia and his own past with drugs, and they both talked an extensive amount about Brakebills, and how they got together, and how they _got back_ together, and about peach-and-plum flavoured drinks.

Twitter had blown up after that interview, most of it in support. They ignored the rest, though Eliot sometimes took great delight in reading out the hilariously hateful ones to Margo in private.

The world was charmed by Quentin Coldwater and his sincerity, and Eliot was even more in love. He hadn’t thought that was possible, but it was–he hadn’t stopped falling in love with Q once he had reached that stage; he continued to fall in love every day like it was the first time. Sometimes it winded him, knowing the stupid amount of love he had for one human being. Like he was a leaf caught in the grasp of an eternal wind; forever flying, forever floating, always soaring. But the sky was his world, and the wind his infinite partner.

That was Quentin. He’d never believe it if Eliot told him, but Quentin is the wind that keeps him going. With Quentin, Eliot reaches new heights every day. With Quentin, Eliot is on top of the world.

And tonight, they were all going to go out and celebrate Q's well-deserved success with his first small-scale tour. Because after this, it was new heights–a new album, a new tour, new songs, new places.

Eliot couldn’t wait.

* * *

The venue was beginning to fill up; Eliot, Margo and Julia were in a box of their own on the floor because after that explosive interview, people started recognising them as c _lose friends with Quentin_ and.

Well, fans of pop stars can be scary sometimes, Eliot found out. It was no wonder Quentin sometimes contemplated ‘going behind-the-scenes’ of the music industry already. But it was fine–they were all there to help Quentin through the worst of it, and it was why they were the ones who sometimes tweeted from Quentin’s account (they were Quentin’s managers off-papers, really).

Eliot couldn’t blame them though–Quentin was handsome and pretty, utterly gorgeous on stage, while still being sincere and nice and down-to-earth. He had this quiet charm about him that reeled the world in, and Eliot still thrilled in the knowledge that _he is the one dating him_ ; that he is the only one who gets to be there for him in his ups and downs, who gets to see him when the sun settles on his face with its soft glow in the early mornings, who gets to see him working on a new song (and maybe sometimes help him. Eliot still likes to sing, after all), who gets to see him in the dark of night when they’re tangled together in the sheets–who gets to see him at the height of his pleasure.

Even after six years, the exhilaration of dating Quentin never gets old.

–And Eliot falls in love all over again when Q stumbles onto the stage and the concert starts.

Even as he’s singing and dancing (and yelling every now and then) right along with Margo and Julia, Eliot can’t help but admire Quentin as he expertly strums his guitar, and serenades the crowd with his low, soothing voice, swaying with the music. He knows Quentin sees them when he sends a wink their way as he mouths _love you_ in between songs. Eliot’s heart melts.

(He later sees a video of it tweeted from a fan and favourites it just so he can always rewatch that moment again.)

At the end of the concert, Eliot unfolds the sign he brought with him–one big enough to catch Q’s attention, but small enough that security would let him pass with it: _do you take song requests??_ It makes Quentin stop in the middle of his little speech after his last song.

“So. So I want to thank–um... Um.” Quentin casts a vague glance out at the audience before his eyes flicker back to Eliot’s obnoxious sign. “Sorry, my boyfriend is being very distracting right now.”

The crowd yells enthusiastically at the word ‘boyfriend’, even now.

“Um. Eliot’s wondering if I take song requests. What do you guys think? Should I get him up on stage?”

The crowd gets louder, jumping up and down as one. Quentin grins at them and waves Eliot up, who folds the sign back up and leaves it with Margo and Julia. He hauls himself up onto the stage gracefully and struts to where Q is, thanking a stage hand for the microphone he’s been given. He clears his throat before smiling wide at the audience.

“Hey. I’m Eliot,” he introduces himself, even though they already know.

He sends out a wink when they yell for him too, then he turns to Q. “Give me a moment, love,” he says, smirking when the crowd somehow gets even louder at the endearment. Quentin flushes, smile going soft as he nods.

Eliot goes to Quentin’s band and gives them his song request (acoustic–Eliot will always insist on acoustic), checking that they know how to play it. When they’re ready, he goes back to the spot next to Q to take his hand, raising his microphone as the music starts up, staring at Quentin the whole time.

_“We’re talking away,_

_I don’t know what I’m to say._

_I’ll say it anyway;_

_Today’s another day to find you…”_

He holds his microphone out at the audience for the chorus, a silent invitation for them to sing along even as Q also joins in, his gentle voice crooning the lyrics beside him.

_“Take on me (Take on me),_

_Take me on (Take on me),_

_I’ll be gone_

_In a day or two…”_

When Eliot looks out, all he can see is a crowd of bodies with their phones lit up, waving them like torches in time to the music as they all sing as one. There are several signs dotted here and there too, and even some Pride flags. Goosebumps travel up and down his arms–it felt amazing actually, to be up on stage like this with Quentin, and the crowd singing with them, showing their support. He understands why Quentin doesn’t quite want to give this up yet even on the days when it gets to be too much; he's been on the other side of this stage, singing with the crowd, but it's different being the one up here, seeing it all. It’s uplifting, to be part of a united crowd like this.

His heart just might burst.

The crowd is yelling and applauding their appreciation, and Eliot smiles, letting them calm down before he talks again.

“I just want to say a massive thank you for Quentin letting me up on stage, and a huge thank you to you lot too for having me up here.”

A pause to allow for more yelling. He turns to Quentin, still holding his hand and giving it a squeeze.

“Q, this one’s for you. I stand here tonight, and I stand next to you every day even on the days when you’re on tour, and I still can’t believe I get to be with you. I’m the luckiest man alive, and I thank whatever higher power is out there that I get to have this. Have _you_.”

A hush falls upon the venue like a wave, echoing, but Eliot only has eyes for Q. _Always_ only for Q.

“Six years, Q. What do you say to another six?”

He lets go of his hand to reach into his pocket, grabbing at the little box that has been sitting there for a week now and gets down on one knee, managing to flick it open with one hand. Quentin’s staring at him, wide-eyed and jaw dropped with shock, tears crystallizing in his beautiful, beautiful eyes.

“How about another fifty? You think you can put up with me for that long, Coldwater?” He teases softly, tender smile in place.

There’s complete silence as the venue holds its breath. And then Quentin’s smiling, smiling so wide, and then he’s laughing as the tears finally fall.

“Oh my God–Eliot– _Yes–_ I can’t _believe_ –”

He wipes at his eyes before he reaches into his own pocket, bringing out his own little box and flicking it open as he also gets down on one knee.

“The absolute _audacity_ –Eliot Waugh, will you be the plum to my peach?”

And now Eliot is smiling so fucking wide that it hurts, and his own tears are falling as he chokes out a _yes_ , and then they’re sliding the rings onto each other, and Q’s ring settles on his skin like it was meant to be there, like it _had_ been there all along; warm to the touch like the brand on his heart, seeping into his very bones as Eliot finally, finally grabs onto his happiness with his own two hands, with no intention of letting it go.

When they kiss, the crowd beyond the stage goes wild, but all Eliot can hear is his heart beating the same tune it has been singing since that sunny September morning in front of the Brakebills sign– _QuentinQuentinQuentin_.

Later, after many celebratory drinks and some truly amazing sex, Eliot favourites a fan recording of their simultaneous proposals and retweets it with the caption ‘peaches and plums, motherfucker’ with corresponding heart and ring emojis.

(They don’t see that the ‘peaches and plums’ hashtag is the top trend until later the next day when Quentin’s phone is blowing up with thousands of twitter notifications that wake them up.)

**Author's Note:**

> These two deserve everything nice!!
> 
> All your kudos & comments mean the world to me. Thanks for reading <3


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